A Sermon from January 26, 2025
Imagine, if you will. A crowd gathers for worship in a traditional setting. They are following custom mostly, perhaps some come with the expectation that God might really show up this day and speak to them. Most are there, however, because it’s just what you do. Holy songs are sung; holy prayers are prayed, holy writings are read. Everything is happening according to script. A preacher stands and delivers a sermon, an interpretation and application of the scriptures just read. The sermon is not overly long, but it’s straight forward, to the point. The message is about a loving God, desiring abundance of life and bringing good news of freedom.
Initially, those present embrace the message: hurray for our God! But then… but then, at the end, the preacher reminds the crowd that the whole point of that good news is mercy and compassion, not just for them, but also for foreigners. And abruptly, it all begins to sour. The adoring crowds turn on the preacher. The preacher gets death threats, and then flees.
Am I, you might be wondering, speaking of the sermon given by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde this past Tuesday in Washington National Cathedral? Am I, you might be wondering, speaking about the vitriolic, vicious response to Bishop Budde’s sermon by so many in this troubled nation of ours, including from many religious leaders? Am I, you may be wondering, referring to the threats of violence that she has received in the days since that sermon?
Nope. I’m not.
I am speaking about Jesus in this morning’s Gospel of Luke. He’s preaching in his hometown, in the synagogue. He does what preachers do. He reads the Scripture and interprets it for those particular people in that particular place. And it’s all going so well.
Now, our lesson from Luke this morning ends conveniently at verse 21. But indulge me for one minute as I read the eight verses that follow. Because truly what we read this morning can’t be understood properly without taking into consideration those verses as well. It’s part two of Jesus’ sermon, and truly part one misses the whole point when separated from part 2. Here it is:
22All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, ‘Is not this Joseph’s son?’ 23He said to them, ‘Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, “Doctor, cure yourself!” And you will say, “Do here also in your home town the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.” ’ 24And he said, ‘Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s home town. 25But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up for three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; 26yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. 27There were also many lepers* in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.’ 28When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. 29They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.
What happened? What went wrong? Well, it’s all that business about the widow at Zarephath in Sidon and the leper named Naaman the Syrian. You see, all the people gathered in the synagogue that day thought that Jesus’ sermon about the good news of God’s love, about freedom and all that jazz… they thought he was talking about them. They believed in God’s love alright, but they thought that God’s love was just for them. That God’s blessings were reserved just for them. And when Jesus says, “oh, folks, you missed the point… God’s love is for everybody. Sure, God’s love is for you, but it’s for the widow at Zarephath in Sidon too. And it’s for Naaman, the Syrian, too. Well, it’s then that it all turns stinky.
You see, guess what… that widow… that widow to whom the prophet Elijah comes and saves in those days of famine, she was a Gentile, not one of them. And that Syrian leper, the one to whom the prophet Elisha comes and heals, out of all the other lepers, that Syrian by the name of Naaman… he was a Gentile too, not one of them.
Here’s the deal… in part 2 of his sermon, Jesus has the audacity to make the outlandish claim that God’s love and God’s grace and God’s mercy and God’s compassion were for these folks too, these Gentiles, these foreigners. And that, my friends, was just too much for the folks in that synagogue on that day in Jesus’ hometown to handle. They become enraged and want to kill him. In fact, they try to. They take him up to the cliff above the town so they can throw him off. But somehow he escapes, at least for now.
So, here’s the truth: God loves you and me. God loves Christians and non-Christians. God’s love extends to those with light skin and dark skin. God loves both the rich and the poor and those of us in the middle. God loves folks who were born in this country, those who were born somewhere else but found a way to become citizens, those who are not citizens but have a piece of paper making it okay for them to be in this country, those who are here without that piece of paper. God loves them all. God loves straight folks and God loves gay and bi and trans folks. God loves Ukrainians and Russians. God loves Palestinians and Israelis. God loves Republicans and Democrats and Independents. Not to state the most obvious of obvious truths, but God so loved the whole wide world that he sent his son Jesus. And that’s some friggin’ good news.
But listen to me now. That good news that God loves all. That’s actually some radical stuff that can get you into all sorts of trouble if you start talking about it or doing something about it. Because what that means is that if we’re serious about loving God and loving the folks that God loves, which is pretty much the definition of what religion is all about, then there’s no us and them. We’re all siblings and all deserving of a place at God’s table.
I understand that finding good solutions to issues such as immigration and abortion, dealing with climate change, international relations and all the rest… I get it that it’s hard work. I understand that intelligent people may disagree on the best way forward with these immense challenges. I understand that lively debate can and should ensue about how best to deal with these issues that affect all of us, but especially the weakest among us.
But what I don’t get is how people who claim to follow in the way of Jesus seem so willing to quickly sacrifice the needs of them to protect the needs of us. I don’t understand how those who have heard the holy words that God’s good news for the poor, and release from captivity for those in bondage and sight for the blind, and freedom for the oppressed… I don’t understand how people of faith might interpret these words as applying only to us, and not to them also. And I don’t understand how any follower of Jesus might believe that sticking up for the weakest among us is appropriate only at certain times and places and not at all times and in all places.
My siblings in Christ Jesus, we are called at all times and in all places to advocate for the poor, the oppressed, and the marginalized. In our prayers, in our words, in our actions. They are us. Together with them, we are all God’s family. Jesus’ teachings couldn’t be more clear. As we witnessed this week, however, to advocate for the poor and oppressed can be dangerous work. It can get you thrown off a cliff. It’s scary stuff, and we may be tempted to stay quiet about what God wants. But, my friends, if it was Jesus’ work, it’s our work too. God has anointed us as well,
to bring good news to the poor.
to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
May God grant us steadfastness and courage for the days ahead. Amen.
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Thoughts about our Faith 